


not gone

by erinatethesoap



Category: Frühlings Erwachen | Spring Awakening - Frank Wedekind, Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Anyways, Canon Era, F/M, M/M, They cry, general angst yanno, ilse stands up to him, melchior is kind of an asshole to ilse, this isnt a melchior/ilse ship fic they are just friends btw, this would take place like an hour after those youve known, what am i actually supposed to use these tags for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:55:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26033053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erinatethesoap/pseuds/erinatethesoap
Summary: ilse stumbles across melchior while he is grieving for the loss of his loved ones: moritz and wendla
Relationships: Melchior Gabor & Ilse Neumann, Melchior Gabor/Moritz Stiefel, Wendla Bergmann/Melchior Gabor
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	not gone

**Author's Note:**

> this was really fun to write. i love my girl ilse btw!! melchior is also kind of an asshole but that’s how he always is. anyways,, enjoy i guess <33

"Not gone." They'd whispered against the murmering of the soft wind one more time. The few more moments of light in Melchior's life- Moritz and Wendla- had faded into mere stars in the night's cloak. He couldn't feel their clammy, but oddly comforting hands intertwined in his anymore. As he looked out into nowhere, his insightful grey eyes as big as saucers, he realised they had gone. He wasn't sure if it really was them, or some kind of strange and grief-stricken hallucination, but he was already sorely missing the touch of ghostly hands fumbling mutely; missing the strange and wise gaze of Wendla staring him down and telling him to put the knife down; missing the faint glimmer that he had glimpsed faintly in Moritz's sleep-deprived eyes, despite his voice sounding so absent, so deadpan.

He was left holding non existant hands. Desperately, he looked down and with the final confirmation of his friends having left him, he suddenly hugged his shoulders tightly, trying to replicate that feeling of companionship, and then fell to the ground- not having enough energy to continue standing.

"Shit." Melchior muttered, feeling the rocky surface penetrate his knees and just being able make out the sight of blood within the dark. " _Shit!_ " Choking out a sob, he pummelled the ground, repeating the vicious cycle from when he had first realised Wendla was no longer living. 

This time, it was different. The blow had finally sunken in and sliced straight through his heart. No more Moritz. Anxiety-ridden, tired Moritz who despite all his self-doubt and desperation was actually so lovely to Melchior. He couldn't count the amount of times he had glanced over at Moritz during class and seen him shaking as he tried to write, and had had to resist the urge of getting out of his seat and putting his arms around him to kiss him gently and reassure him that he was doing great and that everything would be alright. There had been so many missed opportunities where he could have somehow comforted Moritz through his worries and maybe if he'd been around more, maybe if he'd have actually stopped and listened to the way his friend's voice had shaken ever so slightly with fear whenever he mentioned his father, he could have somehow stopped his death.

As the bleeding from his knees eased slightly, he raised his head and was instantly hit with a wave of guilt at the sight of Wendla's grave- standing small and alone. How dare he be thinking all these wistful thoughts of Moritz when Wendla Bergmann- the girl he had undressed in his hayloft- the girl who's breasts he had touched- the girl who had died with his child- was right there, buried nearby? The words, which he had spoken to her as she had sat there so frightened (" _Not supposed to what, Wendla? Not supposed to love?_ ") echoed over and over again in his mind. Had he even loved Wendla? The feelings he had felt around Wendla and that had transpired in the hayloft, were completely different to what he had felt around Moritz. With Wendla, it was simply arousal and this uncontrollable itch to touch her and for their bodies to move as one. With Moritz, it had been so much more. He had longed to just spend an entire day with that boy, whispering "I love you" to each other and for them to kiss and hold him in his arms.

No.

He had not loved Wendla the same way he had loved Moritz. And that was the worst part. He had taken advantage of this girl he had not properly spoken to since they were children, he had violated her even though she had begged no because she didn't understand what was happening. And he had given her a child that she probably would have died from giving birth to. And he hadn't even truly loved her.

He slumped defeatedly against Moritz's grave stone for god knows how long. He didn't know what he was going to do now. There was no way he was going back to that institution, since he had already escaped from there. He supposed his Mama wouldn't take him in again since she (and his father) had decided to send him away in the first place. And he wouldn't suppose any of the parents of other children would take him in, since he was sure he was being used as a tale of warning now. Like they had done with Moritz, when he had died. And probably to Little Miss Wendla "didn't-do-right" Bergmann. So what was he supposed to do now?

The clock struck one in the morning. A single haunting chime echoed through the silent village.

"Melchior Gabor?" a voice called, soon after.

He didn't look up to see who it belonged to. "Who is it?" he croaked, for once at a loss for words.

There was the sound of muffled footsteps coming towards him, stepping on twigs and leaves. "Ilse." her tone was, as usual, distant and sad, but this time there was hint of patheticness as well. The green hem of her dress was just visible in the corner of his eye.

"Oh." he replied, not really sure what to do. She offered a hand out to him, and after a few seconds of debating, he took it and she pulled him up.

"I'm guessing you already knew." she said, smiling sadly. "I would have gotten here earlier but... you know... the journey here in the dark is difficult."

"Yeah." he said shortly. He had not properly spoken to Ilse since god knows when. Since when they were little kids, playing at pirates. In some ways, she really hadn't changed. Her long dark locks were still messy as ever, and she was still taller than him. But there was a new air of maturity and robbed innocence about her, that showed in her pale blue eyes- they were now lonely and pained. They had all grown up, he supposed, in a way.

She sighed, before finally saying, "Do you remember how we used to run back to my house and play pirates?" It felt like she had said this before. She probably had.

"Mhm."

"God, Melchior. When we were kids you used to be so talkative and philosophical." she commented. Even though she was staring directly at him it was like she was in a different universe. "Are you still like that?"

"I don't-"

"I miss it." she said, before swallowing. "Miss them."

"Yeah. Me too." Yeah, no shit. They were _his_ best friends.

There was another silence, which was only filled with the sounds of the wind blowing softly through the tree branches, making the leaves rustle. "You know, I should have guessed that Moritz was going to- you know-" she said huskily. "Because when I saw him, he was so... I don't know what to call it. It was like somebody had thrown water all over his flame, I guess."

A new rage struck Melchior. It was her- she had been the last one to see Moritz right before he killed himself. She could have done something, she could have walked home with him, she could have stopped him. He took a ragged breath, before saying, "This... This is your fault. It's your fault he's gone. He was relying on you to show him some kind of hope- but you didn't. Because you were to busy going on about your fucking childhood to him."

Ilse's eyes misted over a little. "I- guess-" she simply said. Her voice cracked slightly, but other than that there was no reaction. No sign of guilt or sadness or anything that showed her realising she could have done something.

How dare she be so complacent? How dare she act so indifferent? "Are you fucking happy?" he continued, his voice raising as he swallowed back tears. "Are you fine with the fact that you could have helped somehow but didn't?"

She didn't say anything. Instead, she watched the boy in front of her slowly break down in grief, itching for somebody to blame so he wouldn't have to deal with the weight of it all by himself.

"It's all your fucking fault, Ilse." he choked, his voice cracking in dismay. The tears were rolling down his face now. Even though it was so cold and his hands felt like they were going to freeze into ice, his face was hot and his forehead was going to explode. There were so many thoughts- thoughts of Moritz and Wendla playing with each other when they were children, of the last conversation he'd had with Moritz where he'd been filled to the brim with joy that he'd passed, of the letter he'd written to Wendla with a new determination that they could somehow find their way through this mess. He collapsed, sobbing at her feet pathetically, as she looked on in- what was it? Pity? Empathy?

"You're right." she said finally. "I could have helped. But it wouldn't have been enough to save him. Surely somebody as smart as you would have been able to understa-"

"No. He's gone and its your fucking fault and if y-"

"No." she muttered viciously, stepping away from him. Her pointed face was filled with defiance. The painful accusations that she was the one responsible for Moritz's demise had struck an angry flame inside of her. "It's not my fault Moritz is gone. It's the system that failed him. But you fucking took advantage of Wendla when she had no idea of what was happening. Hell- you're the one who got her pregnant! The reason she is dead is because you couldn't keep it in your pants when she'd already said no, and look what's happened now?"

He was once again, at a loss for words. He hadn't expected Ilse to snap like that, especially since he'd always known her as distant, dreamy and sad. There was the sound of a sob coming out of Ilse, before she fell next to him and hugged him fiercely. At first he wasn't sure what to do. But his instincts told him to hold her too, and so he did.

The two children gripped onto each other tightly as they sobbed into each other's shoulders. Their emotions were a mess. Subconciously, they knew that neither was at fault- that it was the grown ups who had exploited their children- but all the same they needed somebody to blame so they could get all their anger and sadness out all at once. Eventually they were lying on the ground together, their faces hot, tear-stained messes as they held each other as if death was going to snatch one of them away as it had done so casually with their friends.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The town clock struck five am, and the sun was just visible over the dark, rolling hills. Melchior was the first to wake. His vision was blurred and for a moment, he had forgotten where he was. His neck ached from the fact he had slept against a gravestone for three hours. Glancing down at Ilse, who despite being asleep had an expression that lacked peace on her face, he decided to stay in this position for just a while longer. After all, he didn't want to disturb her. It was pretty apparent that she had been lacking in sleep, judging by the faint grey rings around her eyes. Obviously, he wasn't in love with Ilse. They were two lost pirates who had come to each other when their ship-mates had tried to go swimming and ended up drowning. Two childhood friends who desperately needed each other.

He still missed Moritz and Wendla like hell, but after last night where he and Ilse had cried their eyes out for ages til they had eventually fallen asleep, there was a strange sense of their presence still being with him.

"Not gone." he murmured, repeating what they (he still didn't know if it had actually been their spirits or just his imagination) had said to him before they'd faded away into the shadows.

"Huh?" Ilse stirred, her misty blue eyes fluttering open.

"Oh- nothing." he responded, his throat dry. "I was just thinking about them."

Ilse slowly unstuck herself from him and rolled away to a patch of grass that was next to them. "Do you know what you're going to do now?"

"With my life?"

"Yes." she confirmed while she lay like a starfish on the ground, looking up at the haze of pink and orange that was the sky.

He laughed dryly. "I don't know. I'm a school dropout, my family doesn't want me home. They think I'm still at a reformatory for degenerates."

The girl dusted her dress down, before sitting up to face him. "You could go back, you know. If you gathered some food here, you could get back there within a week."

"I don't think so." he said, shaking his head. "In a few hours they'll be writing to my mother, informing her of my disappearance."

She pulled herself to her feet and then shrugged. "Well, I'm off." she said finally.

"Where to?"

"God, Melchior. Use your brain. Isn't it obvious? Priapia. Home."

A new idea dawned inside his head. "Take me with you." he said determinedly. "Bring me there and I'll be able to gather some things. Work out my future and what I'm going to do. I have to shake this town off me, cut everyone that I've ever known off. It's the only way I'll be able to start over."

"No."

"But-"

She laughed miserably. He wasn't sure whether it was out of pity, or unhappiness with her own life- he supposed it was a mixture of both. "No, Melchior, god no." she said, looking to the ground hopelessly. "They'll kick you out as soon as they see you. Shit, they'll kick me out for _bringing_ you."

"They let you in, though." he protested. "Why wouldn't they let me in too?"

Ilse laughed again. "Why do you think they let me in?" she said bitterly. She took the skirt of her dress and pulled it tightly around her, so that it clung to her hips, waist and legs. Her figure had been blossoming for quite some time. "That's why. They let me in because they thought I was attractive and if I gave them my body for them to paint- to touch- to dress up- then they'd let me have a place to eat and sleep. They aren't... homosexuals, Melchior. If anything, they would think you were trying to take over their... prize." She uttered that last sentence with contempt and loathing, hating her current guardians for what she had let them do to her.

"I'm sorry."

"You don't need to be." she said. It was obvious in her voice that she had accepted this way of life a long time ago. "It was really nice by the way- being able to talk to you like this. It's been years since we've properly spoken."

"I've missed you, Ilse."

"And I you." she returned, a ghost of a smile playing on her pale, weatherbeaten face. "I have to go home now, though. I'll see you when I do."

"Goodbye, Ilse."

She waved at him, before walking away through the graves, then around the snicket, until she was out of sight.

Like Moritz and Wendla though, she was not gone. And he had a feeling they would cross paths again, sooner or later.

**Author's Note:**

> this author’s note isn’t really interesting, just me hoping you liked this. this has always been kind of a concept for me, but i’ve had no wifi for two weeks so i finally got down to writing it. ily all, be safe <33


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